


even if it's salty

by orphan_account



Series: ficlets [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Cooking, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 17:49:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21450262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Steve cooks. Tony cooks too. Mostly he burns them but well, he tries.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: ficlets [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551151
Comments: 8
Kudos: 141





	even if it's salty

Steve cooks. Tony cooks too. Mostly he burns them but well, he _tries. _

Steve cooks because he had too. Once upon a time, that is, in the 1930s, he had too. Having a nurse for a ma meant he doesn’t know for which meal he’s going to have to fend for himself. Usually his ma, the wonderful multitasker she was, prepared a one pot meal for dinner that could feed them both for all three meals the next day too. It’s easy, portioning with Steve. He was skinny and frail and often times he couldn’t stomach more than half a plate. So, maybe it wasn’t her forward thinking so much than it was Steve’s tiny stomach.

Either way, _after_ she passed, for a whole three months after, he thought he was going to survive by himself, for what menial years he had left within his failing heart and sunken lungs. So, he picked up cooking very quickly out of desperation. Especially when that desperation came from keeping Bucky’s hangover stomach from hurling its final meal all over the shoe-box sized apartment he lived in. It wasn’t even like Bucky lived with him; that jerk, he was only trying to keep Steve accompany and he never outright said this but Steve knew Bucky feared the day he’d find Steve dead body in the apartment and he wouldn’t have been there to save him. So, it worked out for them. Two out of the three whole months before Erskine blessed Steve with a super serum.

After that, in the army, he forgot all about his special skill (special, because not every man knew how to cook then. Well, Bucky knew how to make soups but his soups also tasted like dishwater- not complaining, just stating the fact). Then, _after_, after that, it was a flashy millennia and glitz and glam and Jesus Christ! _Where is that dame’s skirt??_ Steve didn’t ask for it, but he woke up there.

During that four and a half weeks while waiting for something to drop or wake him up from the very lucid nightmare he so hated, cooking helped. Colloquial term calls it therapeutic. Whatever it was, he hung onto the steam from boiling water and dog-eared pages of a new age cookbook he found in the city library as long as it took before he slapped Loki with the shield.

Later, Mr Stark offered him and the rest of the Avengers a room in his big ugly tower.

Much, much later, Mr Stark became Tony and Tony became his reason to keep fighting. He’d fallen many times before and he’d stood up each, but this time, he couldn’t. He doesn’t even think he wants to anyway. It was scary, but mama didn’t raise a coward. Steve pulled his no longer frayed heart together and he kissed Tony on his mouth.

Now, they’re dating. Well, that’s what the youngsters call it these days but as far as Steve’s concerned, they’re already married; ring or not. Steve may be in the 21st Century (and has eventually learnt to like it) but in many ways, he’s still that boy from Brooklyn under his ma and Bucky’s wings and it’s the 1930’s, suspenders and, better bananas that was. As far as _that_ Steve is concerned, no one dates for more than a year and it has been five and counting. They’re married alright, no can change Steve’s mind about it.

Digression aside, when they’re not on any missions, Steve cooks; breakfast and dinner mostly but sometimes, lunch. It used to be portions large enough to feed a village all the time, every day but these days, since the others have started taking on individual missions (Natasha, Clint and Thor with his Asgardian adventures) no longer bothering to come down for every meal (Bruce and Tony), the village sized portion is limited for Friday nights when the entire team come together for team dinner and activities without a miss. While on every other day, Steve cooks for himself and Tony and sometimes Bruce, if he’s not out somewhere volunteering. But mostly, for himself and Tony; because you know, married and what not aside, the man is frankly awful at taking care of himself.

At first, Steve thought Tony failed to feed himself proper meals because he was lacking the time. Then he saw how when even Tony _had_ the time and enough energy in him to whack Clint while he played video games, he opted for take outs; or when he forgot to order and was sick of them, he harrumphed around a tall glass of smoothie.

Steve carefully monitored these behaviours in their early days before he realised he’d fallen head over heels for Tony and he stocked these information in a corner of his mind and one day, when he was kissed awake on his birthday, he jokingly asked Tony to make him breakfast in bed because Tony kept pestering what he wanted for his birthday.

In retrospect, when Tony froze and started offering many gourmet breakfast restaurants’ names to take him out too, he should have seen it coming. But he didn’t and he kept insisting on staying in bed and Tony sighed in defeat and went missing for a whole three hours before he popped in again; this time with a cloche (now, Steve only knew that dome thing was called that because Tony spent an hour rambling about it after). If Steve hadn’t fallen asleep, he would have gone to investigate. But, as it was the case, he woke up to Tony kneeling by his side with a cloche covered tray after three whole hours with a sheepish smile on his flushed face.

“Happy birthday.” He wished. “Content warning: no expectations higher than you would give Tom Cruise’s next movie.”

Steve grinned at him, ecstatic, because you know, for once, someone else was cooking for him and hey! Breakfast in bed! He’d never allow himself that kind of luxury and yet, there he was, because it was his birthday.

“Thank you.” He kissed Tony. Watched him shuffle the sheets aside and flatten out the bed before he placed the circular tray in between them and said with a meek, overly humbled; “Tada!”

Steve, inconspicuous to all those forewarnings, pulled up the cloche to reveal a set of burnt toast and a roll of omelette with charred edges and centre and burnt tomatoes. He couldn’t help it. He winced.

How could one even manage to burn tomatoes, he wondered in awe; not the good sort of awe, but awe nonetheless. Then this box that he stored information about Tony in the corner of his brain rattled, chiming: _Open me! Open me! _and as Tony would say, voila!

He realised with a burst of fondness that Tony Stark cannot cook.

And with that realisation, came a sparkling sort of joy. More fondness and good golly! Every time Steve thinks he couldn’t love this man more, he just keeps proving him wrong. Till today.

“I told you to lower your expectations.” Tony protested weakly, shoulders already slumped and he looked like an adorable kicked puppy that Steve would very much loved to hug and kiss and well, okay, maybe not a puppy because there are some unspeakable things Steve would do to Tony, looking the way he was. Most importantly, he pulled Tony into his arms and tilted his head to give a long winding kiss that rendered him breathless.

“You didn’t even taste them.” Tony breathed when he resurfaced. Looking dazed like he did on some nights when Steve decided to ‘take care’ of him. Steve thumbed his cheek and pressed a kiss to his forehead because he could and he couldn’t help himself against that want. “They’re burnt.” Tony whined into his shoulder, nuzzling like he was trying to escape from the world by burrowing himself into Steve.

Steve let him, rocking him gently sideways as he silently shook with laughter. Felt it when Tony thumped his chest in indignation but didn’t manage to stop even then.

Later, once he got himself under control, he tried the non-charred section of the omelette. _Tried_, being the effective word here because it didn’t last so long on his tongue before he had forcefully swallow it because Tony was watching and he couldn’t spit that out even if he really, _really_ wanted too, then he dove for the water and emptied the glass in three large gulps. **_Salty_.**

Tony of course, despite Steve’s best effort, noticed the way his nose scrunched in distaste - because dear lord, there was only so many things Steve could control while tasting a mouthful of salt – and he yanked the fork out of Steve’s hand to try it for himself.

And he spat. “Holy hell!” Steve winced for his behalf.

“Why did you swallow that?!” Tony yelled at him, aghast.

Steve gawked. “I can’t possibly spit out what you made for me!” He argued.

“Steve! That thing there is salt. Worse than drinking sea water, Steve. Why are you like_ this_?”

Steve frowned, glaring at the omelette. Tears threatening to make fool of him.

“Okay, don’t do that.” Tony placated. “C’mere. You’re pouting. I can’t believe you ate that, but c’mere.” He pulled Steve into his arms, cradling his head as if he was a child, and kissed the top of his head.

“You love me that much don’t you?” Tony asked, voice breathy, once Steve wound his own arms around Tony and hugged him back. Like he couldn’t believe that.

“Of course, I do.” Steve grumbled into his shoulder. Still feeling a little chastised over the omelette debacle.

Tony huffed a laughter. “Of course, he says.” His voice sounded higher than usual. Then he pulled away so he could look at Steve and plant a big one on him. “I love you too, you big sap.”

So there it was. Steve cooks. Tony cooks too, but usually he just burns them. And that was the story of how Steve found out about that first hand.

**Author's Note:**

> more fluff apparently  
shout at me at anthonyed.tumblr.com


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